


Fall's the Thing

by ChaoticCrimson



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Domestic, Drabbles, How Do I Tag, M/M, Merle Being an Asshole, Merle mentioned, Tags May Change, Vampire AU, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-22 16:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2514860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticCrimson/pseuds/ChaoticCrimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of prompt fill drabbles related to the theme of fall revolving around Rick and Daryl had the world not succumbed to madness and circumstances were a little different...or a lot.</p>
<p>Basically- AUs!</p>
<p> <br/>Currently featuring:</p>
<p>Fall leaves (Domestic AU)<br/>Treats (Domestic AU)<br/>Blood (Vampire AU with faint squick warnings)<br/>Halloween (Domestic AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a universe where Rick is divorced post-gunshot and Daryl's a bartender at The Soused Monarch.

Judith at eighteen months was healthy as a horse, eyes alert and filled with wonder as she sat perched between her brother's crooked knees, gnawing on her hands with thoughtful tenacity. It was the cutest goddamn thing Daryl had seen in weeks, messy or not, and he reached over to pat her downy hair with affection. She cooed in response, a quipped "dare" that was getting closer to his name by the day, and the bartender was forced to ignore Carl's mocking smirk, turning his attention instead to watch Rick attack the leaves on the highest tier of his lawn.

Small piles were being maneuvered into one another in an artless but effective assault, Rick's expression pensive as he worked. Daryl had considered helping once or twice but was put off the task by Judith's attentions and the new, strange comfort of watching the man he cared for; besides the fact that the other rake looked as useful as a rusty spear. The deputy didn't seem to mind though, humming an artless tune that strongly resembled one of the songs spammed at The Soused Monarch.

"Thought y'said you didn't like that shit?" Daryl pointed out when Rick finally finished.

Rick cocked his head, bemused for a moment, but when the statement sank in, his sneer was short lived. "Maybe it's not so bad," he said, a smile lurking around his mouth. "After all, I think it's the one I kissed you to. Remember that whole thing?"

Daryl felt his lips thin; Rick's smile grew proportionately. The bartender came to his feet with a grunt, walking to the neatly formed leaf pile and grabbing an armful before Rick thought to stop him. Daryl waited a heartbeat to watch the realization hit the other man before hurling the leaves in his face, grinning at the sputtered cry of dismay.

"Ass!" Rick laughed, spitting out a yellowed leaf and scuffing the strays back towards the pile.

"S'what ya get."

Blue eyes crinkled with mirth, tugging something in his chest. Rick reached out, curling a hand at the nape of Daryl's neck, and the bartender stepped into the affectionate bump of foreheads, resting his hands on the other man's shoulders. The deputy smiled and Daryl couldn't think of a good reason not to smile back.

"So those leaves," Carl said loudly from the porch.

Daryl twitched a bit and pulled backwards to look at the teenager, letting his hands drop to his sides as Rick let go. Despite his tone, Carl looked more amused than anything, so any resentment he may have been fostering was minimal- or just very well hidden. The teen had never been good at seething silently, though. 

Judith was grinning at Daryl broadly, fidgeting restlessly on her perch. She looked ready to test her hand at front yard exploring again, and Daryl thought it would be a fine idea. 

Rick thwarted both of their plans by setting down the rake and walking to stand on the path of concrete between one set of steps and the porch. He crouched down and held out his hand, smiling.

"Want to try something fun, Judith?"

Her nod was enthusiastic. She pushed herself to her feet with a little help from her brother, using his knee to steady, then started off. It was only a few feet, but Daryl watched her with all the trepidation Rick didn't seem to feel until she was within arm's reach. Her little hand disappeared inside the deputy's and he straightened his knees to walk hunched over, maintaining his hold as they moved through the grass to stand before the leaves.

Judith looked as confused by this stop as Daryl felt, glancing to Daryl as Rick buttoned her coat. "Dare?" she chirped, obviously seeking answers.

The bartender shrugged. "Beats me kiddo. Your dad's the one with a plan."

Rick lifted Judith into his arms and tucked her against his chest, laughing. "Cmon, trust me baby. Now hang on."

She was smiling as she fisted his coat in her chubby fingers, all sweet and brave and honest, when Rick suddenly pitched himself into the air and fell backwards.

Judith squealed aloud in surprise and Daryl automatically stepped forward, but they landed in the mountain of leaves, negating his concerns. A spray of brown and yellow exploded into the air, covering them both and wrecking the yard, but Rick was laughing nearly as loudly as Judith as she rolled off of her father's chest into the pile. She flailed her arms wildly to imitate the impact, giggling and tossing about.

Daryl had never done things like that as a kid. The closest he'd come was cleaning his front yard and having Merle shove him into the stacks when their father wasn't looking. When Rick reached up and grasped for his wrist though, leaves clinging to his curls and beard, he let himself fall with them.

The stack was only marginally soft and it itched, but as Rick settled back, he saw the appeal. Judith looked fascinated, crunching leaves in her hands that would only be mush when the rain came, practically glowing with joy. The fingers on Daryl's forearm relaxed, sliding down his palm to rest, and the bartender accepted the touch by lacing their fingers.

"Carl," Rick called, "gonna join your sister?"

A long suffering sigh replied, classic teenager, but a moment later Carl appeared in view. "Wanna jump again, Judith?"

"Jump!" she replied happily.

Daryl closed his eyes, enjoying the sunshine and smiling at Judith's giggles.

"I hope you know you're helping me clean this up," Rick said.

Leaves crackled in his fingers as he threw a fistful on the other man's face. His declaration of, "I ain't helpin' you clean up shit," had them all laughing, all but Judith, who rolled in her mountain. Which was, perhaps, for the best.


	2. Treats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl gets roped into baking cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the same universe as the previous, where Rick is divorced and Daryl is a bartender.

As a general rule, Daryl didn't bake.

Some of this was due to how he was raised, where anything so effeminate was scorned. The rest came from a lack if experience; a life lead largely outdoors cooking squirrel, opossum, gator, and whatever else he could skin and eat didn't exactly afford him much opportunity. Even later when it was just the Dixon brothers on their own, their constant site hopping left him little time or desire for such pursuits. Now though he had a persuasive toddler and a bored teenager to contend with, neither of whom was letting him say no politely.

It went without saying that there was flour everywhere. 

Judith was completely covered, looking absolutely ghostly as she attacked the cookie dough with a mixing spoon. Carl had starfish shaped handprints from head to toe, powder dusting his bangs and smeared on the bridge of his nose as he finished greasing a cookie sheet. Daryl really didn't know if his vest would ever be the same.

"Why'm I doin' this again?" The bartender sighed, wiping absently at the smudges on his hands and eyeing Judith. She'd be a lost cause until she had a bath.

Carl rescued the bowl from his sister, who only pouted for a moment before discovering the joys of flinging dough from her spoon. "Because you want us to give our mom a good report on step-daddy?" he said, obviously mocking. Daryl whacked him with the kitchen towel and the teenager laughed. "Or maybe because you're as bored as we are."

"Likely as the next thing," the bartender mused. He watched Carl start to portion out the dough into bat molds, the movements almost practiced. "Do this with your mom?"

"No!" Carl said immediately, jerking like he'd been hit with a brand. He hesitated, fidgeting with the portioning spoon as he glanced at Daryl. "I mean. Not recently. Not since I was a kid."

The bravado in the statement was familiar to Daryl even if the situation was not. He gave a hum of acknowledgement as he stepped over to Judith, who dropped her spoon in favor of smearing dough over the front of Daryl's vest. He thought of his own mother, long dead from her own vices, and could conjure no such fond memory.

"Lucky to have Lori," he said.

Carl twisted to look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed thoughtfully as if searching for a trick. Daryl pulled Judith into his arms from the counter and pointedly ignored the paranoia.

"Yeah," the teenager said finally, smiling a little. "Yeah we are."

The bartender opened his mouth to propose a bath for the giggling mess in his arms, but stopped when he saw Rick in the doorway. He felt a prickle of unease at the surprise on the other man's features; it was, after all, a huge mess. Then the deputy laughed, tossing his hat on the kitchen table and looking between his son and Daryl.

"What's all this?" He asked, stepping into the warzone of a kitchen with a grin.

"Cookies!" Judith replied. She clutched at Daryl with one hand and reached for Rick with the other. "Daddy cookies."

"Lil A's got the gist of it," Daryl said, readjusting his grip on her to free a hand. He squeezed Rick's shoulder, watching Judith wreck the front of the uniform with doughy crinkles.

Rick didn't seem to mind. "Yeah?" He reached up, brushing flour white bangs from Daryl's face, then bent to stand at eye level with Judith. "Did you make the dough for me, Judith?"

"Cookies," Judith replied firmly, and the bartender found himself exchanging a faint grin with the deputy.

"My mistake," Rick said solemnly, taking hold of her grasping fingers. He kissed them and wrinkled his nose as she tapped his cheek, earning a giggle. "Forgive me?"

Judith nodded as if she understood perfectly, her smile made up of sunshine and magnanimity. Rick kissed her forehead as well, wiping the flour from his mouth as he straightened and cast his eyes about the room. He bit his lip in an obvious ploy to hide his amusement, but Daryl's scrutiny wasn't allowed to linger as a shrill beep emitted from the oven. The bartender turned to look at it, and the block letters that spelled out "PRE" changed to a number.

"Why don't you take Judith for a bath." Rick's voice drew his attention again. "Get yourself cleaned up. I'll help Carl in here."

The word bath had Judith squirming with delight, tugging on Daryl's vest with a string of absolutely impatient jibberish. Daryl ran his fingers over her flour soaked hair, but found his speech diverted as Rick began to undo the uniform. The deputy smiled, a little quirk of the lips that let Daryl know he'd been caught, and the bartender gave the barest smirk in response.

"Why do I have to clean?" Carl whined, gesturing at himself. "I'm just as messed up as they are!"

Looking at Judith proved that to be quite invalid. Rick, however, sized up his son with an obvious nod. "Well, thats true," he said, and his diplomatic tone made Daryl snort, "But I thought I'd spend some time with my son."

Carl obviously hadn't expected that answer. Pink rushed up his neck and colored his ears, showing just how young he really was. "Fine."

Daryl watched the deputy sling his uniform top over the back of a kitchen chair. The familiarity of the motion was so strong that the bartender couldn't help but to wonder how many times he other man had come home to his family, exhausted but happy to see them. He wondered if this was the same situation and found he rather liked the idea, even if he wasn't technically living there.

Contact for the sake of affection was still new for Daryl, but he found himself reaching out to run a hand through Rick's curls. It was stupid, but he'd missed him in the few days their getting together had been nixed due to work. The deputy grinned back, a little lopsided and sweet. Daryl loved all of his smiles.

Judith made a happy sound, then giggled and pointed at Rick's hair. "White."

Flour streaked through his curls like rabbit tracks, following the trail of Daryl's fingers. He hadn't noticed. Rick reached up to dust at the nuisance then heaved a sigh, chin ducking to his chest for a huff of laughter. His hands shifted to his waist, thumbs looping on his belt, and he shook his head.

"That wasn't very nice," Rick said when he caught Daryl's eye.

Intentional or not, Daryl couldn't pass up the jab. "Makes y'look your age."

Rick stared, then outright guffawed. "Oh yeah? Then what's that make you?"

"Graverobber prob'ly."

Carl snorted behind him. Daryl smirked as Rick swatted at his bicep, stepping neatly out of the way. Less than a handful of years lay between their ages, but the grin lighting up the other man's features was priceless.

"Get outta here," Rick laughed.

"Bath!" Judith reminded him eagerly.

"You got it, lil' A," Daryl replied. 

He took one more look at the flour coated kitchen and shook his head. Good thing he didn't have to clean it. He stepped out into the living room, dodging a massive red firetruck toy, and turned to enter the main restroom.

Judith was eager to stand on her own, so he set her beside the tub. Daryl pushed down the drain, and as he reached to turn on the water he heard Carl say, "I'm glad it's him, dad."

The bartender smiled, relieved despite himself, and twisted to help Judith with her clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel this is important to clarify- inside the fic I mentioned physical affection being new to Daryl. I mean that in the sense that he lived a hard life growing up, then while he traveled with Merle. While I dont think he'd quite be a virgin, meaningful relationships where touching was a factor would be few and far in between, hence his awkward.
> 
> Everyone is of course allowed to think what they'd like, but that's all I meant! :)


	3. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was that AU where Rick's a homicide detective and Daryl's a vampire. WARNING: Blood and very mild sensuality squick in relation to non-consensual feeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd because my beta is currently doing Halloween-y things. Hope you guys can ignore the glaring mistakes. Happy Halloween!

There were monsters in the world, beyond the flesh and blood he knew.

Eighteen months, two weeks, and two days before, Rick had believed only vaguely in the supernatural. He believed in the afterlife, and if one really thought about it it was hard to disparage the idea of ghosts, but anything else had been fair game, but eighteen months beforehand, magekind had decided to shatter the careful illusion that humanity held about itself. All of it was real. All of it. Ghosts, weres, magic, everything but dragons, and then only because they'd been hunted to extinction long before modern ages. He'd gone thirty-seven years without knowing any of this, thirty-seven years of only vaguely outlandish murders, and since then...

Well, being a detective on homicide wasn't easy before, and it hadn't gotten any better. Still, someone had to do the job, and he couldn't just abandon it.

This was something he hadn't been ready for though; at least, not in the seconds it took to process what was really happening. There was no blood but for the trickle running down the woman's-no, the victim's throat, seeping from the place where the vampire's mouth was sealed. Violence screamed from the position, from the awkward angle of the neck to the crumpled up body, but the victim seemed to be enjoying it, scratching at the broad shoulder, gasping and twisting as much as the man's grip would allow during the feed. The scattered contents of the purse in the alley suggested that it wasn't the nice, legal, consensual kind of feeding either.

Rick knew the logistics of this from briefings and crash course classes. In fact, he knew them to an intimate extent beyond that, one that throbbed at his femoral artery like he'd forget who he was dating and what he'd willingly done. Most vampires were smarter than this. They were natural born predators and with the mage's outting feeding had even become simpler. There were groupies and donors, lists online of people willing to "help out the fangs". There weren't even as many of them as fiction presupposed as turning- literally dying and reviving based on a blood born pathogen- was harder on the body than many people had assumed. Yet there were always monsters about, human or otherworldly, and vampires were some of both.

Giving the vampire an opportunity to move would be bad, but the part of Rick that was afraid of becoming the cops he'd seen reported in the news, the ones who killed innocent people, nagged at him. He gave a warning as the safety clicked off of his colt. "Let her go."

The vampire had been a broad, bulky man in life, and that had translated well into death. He dropped the victim like a sack of potatoes where she lay twitching, her thighs rubbing together unconsciously, breathing too fast. Rick only spared her a glance, looking instead at the other man as he stood. His sneer looked familiar, which twisted something uncomfortable in the detective's chest, but Rick pushed down the sensation. The vampire's eyes shifted in color, and even if he couldn't quite make out the actual change, he knew that the bloody red had gone.

"What'cha gonna do with that?" drawled the other man laughter in his voice, his shoulders raising inside of his vest. "Gonna put a little hole in me?"

"I hear vampires don't like wooden stakes much," Rick replied, and the mocking, defensive position fell away from the vampire's shoulders. "Didn't you know? We got wooden bullets now."

Down on the ground, the woman began to hyperventilate. Her sounds, delighted before, began to even out into panicked little whimpers, and she started to push herself away, shaking her head. Blood loss made you tired, vision blurry, more complacent, and if she was moving that meant hers hadn't gone too far. That was good.

"Was just having a little bite, officer," the vampire said. His tone had dropped some of the playfulness, reverting to something like a warning. "Nothing illegal about that."

Rick scoffed. "Yeah, if it's consensual. Get down on the ground and I won't shoot you."

Beads of sweat trickled down the back of Rick's neck, and it wasn't just from the humidity or the fact that he'd forgotten to leave his coat in the truck. This was not a good situation. His survivor's instinct told him he should've shot this one, shot this one and taken the heat because this one was bad. His sneer shouted it, his voice echoed it, and the sudden way he relaxed was so far from comforting that the detective nearly pulled the trigger there and then.

"Y'aint gonna shoot me if you're dead," the vampire said, voice matter of fact.

That was a threat, but Rick withheld his fear. He was better than succumbing to the taunting of assholes. "And you're not going to live to see another sunset if you try," he said. He fell back on the calm in his chest, keeping his gun steady, eyes alert. "Down on the ground. Now."

Rick's instincts were usually right.

With a snarl like a whipcrack, the vampire moved, and Rick had the sudden thrilling moment to remember that yes, vampires could move faster than humans could see and oh, if you didn't get the correct shot you were dead. He pulled the trigger, but even as he did so an arm knocked his shot askew and a hand slammed into his stomach, sending him sprawling on his ass. Automatically he went to fire another shot, but the sight that met him froze him solid.

"Daryl?"

"Back off, Merle," Daryl was saying, growling it, his entire body wrapped around the bulkier figure. "Back th'fuck off. Get outta here."

Merle. The name struck a chord, brought back a flood of memories of lying in the dark beside his lover, listening to stories of before he'd been changed; he'd actually been old for the change, but big brother Merle hadn't wanted to be alone. Merle was on the wanted list for unsolicited feedings, but he'd never killed anyone and had thus fallen to the wayside for some of the more extreme criminals. 

Rick tried to feel surprise, but found it lacking beneath the surge of anger, the cold wrath that spiked through his veins and cleared his thoughts. The brothers were arguing, Merle shouting about his little brother becoming "a pussy" and Daryl asking in oddly rational tones if his brother thought "killin' cops would help shit". He took aim from where he was.

"Move."

Daryl looked over his shoulder. His expression, normally some variation of sneer or quiet amusement, was perfectly blank. "I ain't lettin' you shoot my brother."

He could shoot him to get him out of the way. Taking out his legs would be sufficient. They would heal, though the process would be incredibly painful thanks to the specialized bullets. Daryl would never forgive him though, and the man was hardly a man who acted without reason, even if those reasons were sometimes a mystery to even himself. Rick thought beyond the rage, lowering his gun a fraction and glaring at the other vampire sneering over Daryl's shoulder.

"Get th'fuck out, Merle!" Daryl snarled, and the sneer faded from the other man's voice. Rick wondered if he'd ever heard his brother stand up for himself. "Now!"

"A'ight lil brother," Merle said, voice mild. "Don't get your little panties in a twist." He pat Daryl on the shoulder, his eyes on Rick, and gave a smile that made the detective's skin crawl. "Don't think this is over, detective."

Rick opened his mouth to shout, but the older Dixon was gone. Daryl's arms dropped to his sides and he stood staring out into the darkness for several seconds before he turned completely towards Rick. His expression softened from the careful, icy blank, twisting with faint pain.

"He's my brother."

An explanation of sorts. Rick tried to think of it emotionally, remembering a time when he and Shane had been thick as thieves, close enough to touch without thinking, to share everything. That had been before Lori had decided to up and leave with Carl, before she'd decided that his silences really were a lack of concern rather than those of a man used to expressing himself through actions. Things had been different then. He'd have done almost anything for the other man, to the point of being questionable.

"He would have killed me."

Daryl visibly bristled. "You had a gun on him!"

Rick came to his feet. "He was feeding on that woman without her permission, Daryl," he said. The other man tensed. "You know that's not all right. I know you know."

The single shot had splintered against the wall in a thousand pieces, but it hadn't even left a dent; only a tiny scorch mark. Rick glanced to the woman again to find her huddled near a trash can, her arms wrapped around her knees, sobs wracking her body. The blood had stopped flowing, but she'd still need to go to a hospital; Rick would call an ambulance soon.

"I do know," Daryl finally said. His voice was rough, thick with emotions, ready to lash out. "Shit."

Rick hesitated a moment, torn between a stark sense of furious betrayal and the urge to comfort his lover. He took to neither, standing his ground, watching Daryl work himself out.

"If I see him again, Daryl, I'm taking him in."

Daryl's fists clenched at his sides. He didn't speak or acknowledge the statement other than that little flux, but Rick could tell by the tension in his hands. He holstered his gun and stepped carefully around the other man, moving to the huddled woman. He didn't touch her, crouching down at her side and waiting for her to shift, acknowledging his presence.

"Ma'am, I'm Detective Rick Grimes," he murmured. Her eyes were incredibly green from crying when she peered up. "Are you all right?"

She didn't nod or acknowledge him, fresh tears spilling into her eyes and down her cheeks. For a wild moment, Rick wished he'd just taken the shot to begin with, ended the entire thing so she wouldn't have to live in fear. He hated that he hadn't.

"I'll call you an ambulance and you can make a report at the hospital to the officers in charge of these situations. Would you like me to come with you?"

Her hand snaked out, hovering in the air over his arm. The detective waited, and when her fingers finally touched on cloth, her voice emerged in a soft, "Please..."

Rick nodded and, ever so carefully, rested his hand over the top of her own. She didn't pull away or flinch, which was a good sign, and he was careful in standing, taking off his coat and laying it gently over her shoulders. When he turned, Daryl was still present, watching him with that same, near pained expression. 

The woman was present. Rick hadn't hidden that he was currently with a member of the supernatural community, but if it got out that Daryl was connected, the questions would cause problems for both of them and, somewhere along the line, get to Merle. Full disclosure would be had; but for the moment, the woman was the priority. 

"The usual place tomorrow," he said firmly. He couldn't say 'I forgive you', or any of the other things racing through his head. 

Daryl nodded, looking at the woman on the ground. "Hope you heal up," he said, then turned and ran, disappearing around the corner.

Rick watched him go, then reached into his pocket to pull out his cell for the ambulance.

"He saved me, didn't he," the woman whispered, voice rough, nearly strangled. 

"He did," Rick said quietly. The attack had been for him, but if Merle hadn't been stopped, there was very little chance that he'd have just ignored her.

There were monsters in the world; some were human, others were not. Rick thought about the inhuman being he claimed as his own, wondered where he fell in the shades of monster, and dialed 911.


	4. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Domestic! Bartender Daryl and his first Halloween as a Grimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still un-beta'd. Whoops.

"You're sure you'll be alright?"

The question was posed with the tone of finality that meant Rick knew the answer, but couldn't let Carl walk out the door without one more try, one last vain attempt to protect his son. Carl heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes so hard that his entire neck went with it, like he'd done this a thousand times. He turned to look back at his dad, cocking his cowboy hat back and jaunting his hips in a familiar, bow legged stance.

"Yes, dad. George is squeaky clean and a really safe driver, okay? I won't do any drugs or something stupid like steal a car if I drink."

When Daryl was young, Halloween meant beating up kids for their candy with Merle or, when he was gone, thieving from the bowls the neighbors left on their stoop (or at least, it felt like thieving because he never had a costume beyond the real marks his dad left). When he was older, it meant sitting through parties, watching his brother get shitfaced and grope at women, sometimes getting so drunk he'd puke up whatever he'd snatched from the refreshment table and wake up in someone's bed. Watching the minute interaction between family members, even participating in the early trick or treating with the starry eyed Judith, was completely new to him. He liked this version better.

The tension in the living room was palpable, broken only by Judith kicking her legs off the end of the couch cushion. A breath of a moment passed, and Daryl could see Rick actively decide whether or not to ask the bit he was really concerned about.

"Don't get anyone knocked up," the bartender filled in. All three Grimes turned their gaze to him, but Judith rapidly lost interest, playing with some of the cheap toys they'd gotten from trick or treating. "Or if you wanna go the other way, still use the rubber. Now get out."

Rick snorted back laughter and Carl huffed, turning red and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Okay DADS," he said, voice distinctively sullen with embarrassment. 

Daryl didn't bother snapping back as the teen moved hastily to the door. Carl was a smart kid, stubborn or no, and it was more practical advice than Daryl himself had ever been given. He'd be fine.

Rick stood from the couch, shaking his head ruefully. Judith stopped fighting against her exhaustion and dropped the maze she'd been wildly shaking, relaxing back on the couch cushion and blinking sleepily. She'd been a ball of energy as soon as night fell, excited to stay up past bedtime and get candy and absolutely thrilled she got to wear a costume. She'd picked it out herself, despite Lori's amused reminder that ninja turtles were not fairy princesses, and had worn the mask right up until the moment they'd returned home, her heels dragging with fatigue. The sugar high had come and gone, and the bath had been unanimously voted for in the morning.

The bartender checked the time on the wall. A quarter until nine. What a trooper.

Rick seemed to have the same idea. He knelt beside Judith, gently pulling the ties from her hair and smoothing out blond locks. She mumbled sleepy protest but didn't fight, leaning in to the preening fingers and grasping with pudgy hands at her father's forearms. Her resistance faded with the last of her straightened hair and she leaned into the deputy, mumbling sleepily.

"Gotta brush your teeth," Rick reminded her, hefting the little body into his arms.

Daryl watched them go down the hall, warmth in his chest and a smirk tugging on his lips. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom and the bartender took his cue to pick up the strewn candy, stuffing it into the pink pumpkin and chucking the wrappers on the table. It wasn't that bad of a haul. He'd have to remember to ask Rick about the etiquette involved in taking your significant other's kid's candy. 

Judith finished before he did, staggering from the hallway in Wonder Woman pajamas and making grabby hands at him. Daryl righted the pumpkin on the table and swept Judith into his arms, smiling despite himself when she hugged him about the neck and mumbled, "Dare."

She was so small and trusting, her eyes closed, already halfway to dreamland. She knew he wouldn't let her down, had every faith that the man holding her would do her no wrong. It was unnerving and wonderful all at once, having such complete adoration in his hands.

"Looks like you're tucking her in."

Daryl looked up to find Rick, leaning against the wall and smiling beneath the brim of his tow truck baseball cap. It unhinged him a little, thinking that he was so well engrained into her daily life that his participation in bedtime rituals was a given, but there it was in the shape of the girl in his arms and the curve of Rick's lips. Responsibility.

"Yeah," Daryl grunted, stepping around the table and walking towards the room they'd made hers.

What had once been the guest bedroom was now a spectacular palace, complete with toddler sized dresses and a combination of action figures, dolls, and ponies to boggle the mind. It was only recently that the crib had been shifted out for a toddler bed, but Judith had loved it at once, no doubt because of the castle headboard and stone themed bumpers. 

He settled Judith between the sheets while Rick shuffled obviously in the background to do the monster check. Blinds were closed, window lock checked, nightlight switched on, and the toddler mumbled something quiet and unintelligible as she released her death grip on Daryl.

"Sweet dreams little a," he murmured, stroking bangs from her forehead. He hesitated for an instant, then planted his lips against her hair and slunk from the room.

The bartender finished cleaning up the child mess, dumping wrappers in the trashcan and sorting the toys into a half assed pile before he plunked down on the couch. Rick emerged a few moments later, scrunching the coveralls rolled at his waist, and deposited himself on a cushion beside Daryl. He made no attempt to put space between them, pressed from hip to knee, and gave a lingering smile that sank fingers of heat in Daryl's gut.

"You're good with them," Rick said.

Daryl reached up, flicking the baseball cap from Rick's head. "Learned from the best."

The other man scoffed. "No. That's all you."

The bartender didn't know what to make of that, so he pressed his lips to Rick's. The deputy's smile against his mouth was encouraging, as was the fact that he followed Daryl's retreat with another kiss. Desire hooked its claws in, following the trail of the other man's hand across his back and the burn of lips over stubble, reflected in the eyes hovering inches from his own.

The doorbell rang, little hands pounding on the door in rapid succession, and both men jumped at the sudden intrusion of sound. Rick laughed, then vaulted off the couch. A candy bowl had been prepped on a side table and he ran to grab it, then disappeared down the hallway. A chorus of shouted "trick or treat!"s echoed after him, and it was only the sudden volume that made him realize why the bowl had been made; Judith was asleep.

Rick ambled into the living room a few moments later, grinning a bit. "Excellent timing," he said, running his hand through his curls. 

"Better'n later," Daryl replied, not sure if he meant it entirely. He plucked at the sleeves of his sweater and glanced about for his bladed gloves. He'd left them with his hat, and that had been hours before when Judith was at the peak of sugar high, but doing something other than focusing on the coiled heat in his gut seemed like a good idea if they were to go play candy sentinels. 

A shadow slid over his legs. Daryl looked up to find Rick leaning to pluck his hat from the cushions, and that didn't help his thought process at all. Blue eyes found his, and it didn't take an expert to see that Rick's normalcy came from practice rather than impact.

"Is the candy on the porch?"

Rick nodded. Daryl waited a heartbeat.

"To hell with candy watch."

The other man laughed, but he was leaning in already and one of Daryl's hands curled around his neck, the other slapping the baseball cap to the ground. Rick's mouth was warm and pliant and different than the simmering heat of before, an affection more raw and easier to understand. 

Logically it was a bad idea for anything on the couch when there was a toddler asleep in the next room and a moody teenager who could come home, but the loss of contact when Rick straightened made Daryl huff. Watching him saunter backwards was nice though, especially when he pulled off the yellow teeshirt. "You coming?"

Amusement pricked at Daryl's lips. "I plan to," he said, feeling horrified in the back of his mind but uncharacteristically pleased.

Rick groaned and covered his face, but the smile stayed in his voice. "Daryl. You have spent too much time with my teenage son."

"This ain't trick or treatin right?"

"Daryl!"


End file.
